He laughs, a genuine laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. "How about we start with names? I'm Colt."
Colt. It fits him somehow. Strong and a little wild, like something untamed.
"Harper," I offer, and it feels significant somehow, exchanging names. Making this real instead of just an anonymous encounter in a bathroom.
"Harper," he repeats, testing it out. "Pretty name."
"Thanks." I'm blushing again, I can feel it, heat crawling up my neck. "So, um..."
"Want to get a drink?" He gestures toward the bar. "Actually sit down and talk this time instead of—"
"Instead of you fingering me in a bathroom while someone's washing their hands ten feet away?" The words come out before I can stop them, and my eyes go wide. "Oh my God, I can't believe I just said that out loud."
But Colt just grins wider. "I was gonna say 'instead of rushing things,' but yeah, that works too."
I cover my face with my hands, mortified. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually... I don't normally..."
"Hey." His voice is gentler now, and I feel his hand on my wrist, pulling my hands away from my face. "It's okay. I'm not exactly known for taking things slow either."
I meet his eyes, and there's understanding there. No judgment, no shame, just acceptance of what happened between us.
"Beer?" he asks again.
"Yeah," I breathe. "Beer sounds good."
He keeps his hand on my wrist as we walk to the bar. Not quite holding hands, but close enough that I can feel the warmth of his palm, the calluses on his fingers. The same fingers that were inside me last night, the same ones that nearly made me come in a public bathroom.
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the responding pulse of heat between my legs.
The bartender looks between us as we approach. "Well, look who came back."
"Sarah, this is Harper," Colt says. "Harper, Sarah pretty much runs this place."
"Nice to meet you," I manage, even though Sarah's looking at me like she can see right through my clothes to all my secrets.
"Two beers," Colt tells her, then glances at me. "Unless you want something else?"
"Beer's fine."
Sarah pulls two bottles from the cooler, pops the caps, and slides them across the bar. "You two want a table? Corner's free."
"Perfect." Colt picks up both bottles and nods toward the back of the bar.
I follow him to a small table tucked in the corner. It's private enough that we can talk without shouting over the music, but not so isolated that it feels like we're hiding. He pulls out a chair for me, and I'm surprised by the gesture. Derek never pulled out chairs.
Damn it. I need to stop thinking about Derek.
I sit, and Colt takes the seat across from me, sliding one of the beers in my direction. For a moment, we just look at each other, and I'm aware of how surreal this is. Last night I was running away from him. Today I'm sitting across from him like we're on some kind of date.
Are we on a date? Is this a date?
"So," Colt says, wrapping his hand around his beer bottle. "Starting over. That means we probably shouldn't talk about what happened last night, right?"
"Probably not," I agree, even though it's the only thing I can think about.
"Okay." He leans back in his chair, looking at me with those dark eyes. "Tell me about you, Harper. What brings you to Blackwater Falls?"
And there it is. The question I knew was coming, but I don't know how to answer. I could lie. Could make up some storyabout always wanting to visit Montana, about being on a road trip, about anything other than the truth. But something about the way he's looking at me, open and genuinely interested, makes me want to be honest.
